I think mine is broken? Anyway it's been a while since I've heard from her. Sporadically I get some inspiration. Shakespearean poetry novel disaster, creativity is all over the map, missing the bulls-eye by a million meters. Sudden desire again to do The Novel, the big one I put away in a box after slaughtering it last November but it reconstituted reincarnated and grew, magnetically gathering new perspectives and plot arcs and it's slavering to escape--"you can write me better now"--time to surrender. Start over from scratch. See what it's become.

I had other plans, different stories, but I can't move on until this one's told right. Why wait until November? How can I with looming unemployment and screaming ideas poised on the tips of my fingers and the prospect of entire free days alone at home. Shall I project a world?